Just Words
by Hikaru H
Summary: A series of short scenes, each inspired by a single word. Some are AU, some aren't. Some humorous, some not. It's really a grab bag. Contain Dean, Sam, Castiel, mention of Gabriel.
1. Tentatively

The Word: Tentatively

Sam had the opportunity to crash at a lot of his friends' houses, but there was only one where he ever took up the offer. His best friend, Dean, had no problem with him spending the night whenever he wanted (which was becoming quite often). It was far more comfortable to hunker down on the spare, rock-hard futon than be in his own bed listening to his parents yell downstairs.

Dean only had a vague idea of Sam's home situation. He knew it wasn't ideal, but his friend wasn't exactly forthcoming with details. All he could really do was offer a place for him to stay whenever he wanted to get away. It's not like it was any trouble, really. Who wouldn't want to hang out with his friend, eat funyuns, and play video games all night? And if he started coming over more and more often, Dean pretended not to notice.

It had gotten to be routine. Sam wouldn't even knock when he got there. He could just waltz on in, call a greeting to the parents, and head up to the game room. Fancy people would probably call it a den, but Dean's family wasn't exactly fancy. That was where Dean usually played video games, so it was eventually deemed the game room. It consisted of a TV, whatever gaming consoles Dean had collected, a ratty couch, a rattier futon, Dean, and Sam. The only time they left it's comfortable clutter was for the bathroom or more food.

Dean fell asleep on the couch sometime toward the end of watching _Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers_. The ending was one of Sam's favorite parts, but he found himself distracted by the sleeping boy laying just a few feet away, within reaching distance. But then, eighteen wasn't exactly a boy.

Singers and writers always wax poetic about people looking angelic when they sleep. Dean was far from that. His mouth was slightly open, snores drowning out half of the movie dialogue. Hair, badly in need of a trim, stuck out at wild angles. And his positioning—the way he had somehow contorted himself could give chiropractors nightmares. He hadn't shaved, of course, and at some point he had spilled Pepsi on his wrinkled t-shirt. Sam didn't care. He was transfixed.

His hand reached out tentatively, seemingly of its own volition. It inched closer and closer toward his sleeping friend's hair, his face, his cheek.

His lips.

A particularly loud snore half woke the teen, making him shift halfheartedly before going limp once again. Sam's hand shot back so fast he nearly hit himself. He sat bolt upright on the futon, hands in his lap, eyes fixed blindly on the TV. At some point the credits had started to roll.

He would never tell Dean the real reason he stayed over.


	2. Turnips

The Word: Turnips

Every once in a while, Dean's health freak of a brother would insist that they bypass the endless stream of fast food restaurants and diners in favor of an actual grocery store. Dean would bitch and moan for a minimum of three hours, only conceding once Sam pointed out that they were nearly out of beer.

This grocery store made customers walk through the fruits and vegetables before they could get to any of the good stuff. Sam looked like a kid in a candy store. A _giant_ kid in a candy store. He blocked the entire aisle whenever he paused to look at any of the ghastly green stuff that surrounded them, holding them hostage. Dean was forced to trail along behind him as they slowly worked their way toward the real food. That doesn't mean that Dean came quietly, of course. Sam had learned to tune him out years ago, but that didn't stop the older brother from complaining about everything from the amount of healthy shit to the size of Sam's ass.

Sam paused yet again and Dean let out a loud groan, earning looks from the few other shoppers in the vicinity. Sam spared an apologetic smile for them, then went back to looking at his new discovery. "Dean, you shouldn't think about porn in the middle of a grocery store. You start making noises."

"Ha ha, you're freakin' hilarious." Dean scowled at the sign above the bin Sam was paying so much attention to. Turnips. What the hell were turnips?

Sam heaved one of his patented I-put-up-with-so-much-of-your-shit-that-I-deserve-a-freaking-medal sighs and scooted around the end of the aisle so that Dean could get past him. "Go on and get your liquid medicine. Maybe it'll keep you from being such a jerk."

Dean's smug smirk said that had been his plan all along. "Don't mind if I do." He clapped his brother on the shoulder as he passed by in search of not-so-green pastures. "Bitch," he threw over his shoulder as an afterthought. He didn't have to look back to see Sam shaking his head.


	3. Monsoon

The Word: Monsoon

Normally Dean didn't like checking into motels so early in the day, but the weather didn't give them much choice. There was no way they could keep driving when it was a freaking monsoon out there.

Of course, Sam had to get all technical and explain about forty different ways in which the weather outside was actually not a monsoon. Dean decided that humming AC/DC was more important than actually listening to him.

They made sure the next hotel they came across was suitably rundown before they pulled into the lot. The last time they had been driven into a fancy hotel by the weather it hadn't turned out too well. Lesson learned. They had no intention of repeating that mistake, especially since they didn't have Gabriel there to save their asses again.

Which reminded Dean that they still had the angel's version of Casa Erotic Thirteen somewhere in the trunk. He was all for salting and burning it, just in case. Sam, of course, thought they should treat it with a bit more respect, seeing as how it might end up saving their lives. So, until they decided what to do with it, it stayed buried in the trunk.

They grabbed their duffles from the trunk as quickly as they could and sprinted to the lobby to check in. Thankfully their room wasn't at the end of the building, so they only got moderately drenched on the way there. Once inside they spent a few minutes shaking as much water from their jackets and bags as they could. Sam shook his hair wildly, getting his brother ever more wet.

Dean flopped down on the closest bed, determined to get as much sleep as possible before the weather let up. He glanced at Sam as he lumbered across the room, then did a quick double take. He could have sworn he saw the corner of a DVD case sticking out of his laptop bag before he stashed it on the other side of the bed.


	4. Rosary

The Word: Rosary

Angels. Freaking angels.

Dean opened the trunk of the Impala with more force than necessary and winced, mentally apologizing to her. No matter the shit life was throwing at him, he shouldn't take it out on his baby.

But seriously? And angel? How stupid did that creature—Castiel, he reminded himself—think he was?

He popped open the weapons bin and propped it open with a sawed-off. A rosary swung freely from a clip on the open lid.

Dean paused, reaching out a hand to stop the swinging beads. How many times had he used it to make holy water to torture demons? Demons were real. Angels were supposedly their counterpart. And for the water to be holy, wouldn't it need something behind it to make it holy? A superior being? Maybe an angel?

Dean scowled at the object and tucked it away in a compartment. There was no way that trench coat wearing, demon knife defying, self righteous tax accountant son of a bitch was an angel. There was no such thing. And Dean planned to prove it.


	5. Release

The Word: Release

"Now put these boys back together and go. I won't ask twice."

Dean experienced a few more moments of intense pain before it vanished as quickly as it had begun. He shot a look over at Sam, making sure he could breathe again.

"You boys need to be more careful."

Dean swung around and looked at Cas. Hadn't Chuck just been telling them that Raphael had smote him? He had given up hope of seeing the annoying God-spokesman again. "Cas? You're alive?"

Apparently all intelligent thoughts flew from Dean's brain when faced with such a surprise. He hadn't been this happy to see anyone since his return from Hell. Who knew he would actually have grown fond of the righteous, stick-up-the-ass feather boy?

His body took over trying to translate his emotions. Two short steps later he was enveloping the angel in a hug, the equivalent of which he had only ever given to his brother. He wasn't good with the chick flick crap, especially when it came to talking about anything even resembling feelings. Hugs were, at times, tolerable.

The trench coat-clad being froze. "Dean?"

Dean froze himself. Son of a bitch, was he hugging a freaking angel?

"You may release me now."

Dean backed up quickly, giving the angel an awkward pat on the shoulder. "It's just…nice to see you up and kickin' ass again, is all." He cleared his throat and took another step back.

Cas tilted his head, wearing his customary look of confusion. "Thank you. I am glad to not be dead."

Sam was looking at his brother as if he had strapped on a pair of bunny ears and started singing the Teletubby theme song.


	6. Golden

1

The Word: Golden

They were dead. Dean could see it as clearly as the being that stalked toward him now. Mother. That name used to mean so much to him, bring forth so many memories he tried daily to suppress. Now he associated it with evil, with torture, with death. It was right up there with Azazel, Alistair, and Lucifer. Maybe even above them.

She came forward slowly, not in any hurry to kill them. She held them motionless with the same force that held her followers back, giving her full control. The demons and monsters of her entourage screamed their rage and blood thirst, wanting to tear their enemies apart atom by atom, but she held them back with no apparent effort. Instead she simply stalked forward.

Dean found he could still move his head and quickly looked to either side. Sam and Cas seemed just as paralyzed as he was, and in no better shape. Both were covered in blood, their own and others'. It was impossible to tell which was which anymore. All three wore the same look of defiance, yet underlying knowledge of defeat and fear. They were dead.

Mother froze just out of arm's reach. For the first time, an expression other than smug loathing crossed her face. Confusion, then fear controlled her features as a harsh scream of pure agony was wrenched from her throat. She seemed to be burning from the inside out, contorting in pain. In a split instant she seemed to both disintegrate and explode at once, limbs flung out with the force of her demise.

The boys dropped to the floor as her hold on their bodies vanished. Shocked eyes roamed the chamber, now empty except for the three men. All of the others had been made dust.

A soft light began to form in the chamber, growing brighter by the second. It began to hurt the humans' eyes, forcing them to look away. It was so similar to that of an angel, except it was not the pure white of their true forms. It was golden.

Dean and Sam cowered against the floor, eyes averted and covered, but they could still see the light. It was not only in their eyes, but in their heads.

Castiel was the only one to not look away. He stared upward in hope and wonder. One could even say faith.

"Father?"


End file.
